


Sometimes Words Get In The Way

by Calcasieu1959



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:50:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calcasieu1959/pseuds/Calcasieu1959
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles talks. Alot. But he also knows how to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Words Get In The Way

Stiles threw his backpack in the seat of his jeep. And watched it flop over and half the crap slither out and land on the floorboard. Shitty ending to a shitty day. 

It was Friday. That was about the only good thing about it. Scott was going to be busy with Allison and pack shit. Which was fine. No. More than fine. Wonderful. He wouldn’t have to watch them make googlie eyes at each other. And forget all about him. 

Aw fuckit. He could buy ice cream on the way home. His Dad would be working late. He could finish off the whole thing by himself. Watch whatever he wanted for as long as he wanted. All by his fucking self. 

Step one. Get the crap back in his backpack. He started picking up and of course lost his grip on his book. The one that Jackson had shoved right in the middle of his chest while he was having an asshole moment. 

Something fell out of the book. 

For a few seconds, the world grew still and silent and old memories surfaced. 

His mother had folded origami animals for him. He had watched her. It was like a meditation. She had learned it there along with the treatments that didn’t work. 

It was a yellow flower. Soft as the giver didn’t know how to be. 

Stiles carefully unfolded the flower and found words.

  
I wish I was brave enough  
To take a chance  
To take your hand  
And ask you to dance. 

Beneath the silver moon  
Under the bright stars,  
But I’m not brave  
My soul has scars. 

I would give my hand to you  
To hold as safe as you do my heart,  
But I’m afraid,  
After all this time, where do I start? 

I’m tired of all the games  
And all the players.   
I’m wrapped and smothering  
Under all the layers. 

Alone, bereft and deathly tired  
You heard me as I cried.  
The rest of the world had left  
But you came and tried. 

You listened to me.   
You held me tight  
As I struggled through endless night. 

Rhyme doesn’t always work.   
Neither does reason. 

Good sense would have you walk away  
Yet through it all, you stay. 

If I remember why and how to pray,  
I would ask for something:   
Courage for a day. 

When I reach out to you  
Unafraid and unashamed.  
Hold you close. Hold you tight.   
To be the kind of friend I long to be. 

I’ve lost my rhyme.   
You are my reason.   
Thank you for loving me anyway.   
Even when I’m an ass. 

You are precious to me.   
Yours always. 

Stiles carefully folded the paper back into the flower shape. Not quite perfectly but good enough.  
He tucked it back inside the book to keep it safe. He stuffed the other crap back in as well.

He had ice cream to buy. A special place to be. And someone to share it with. Quietly.   
Because sometimes words? They just get in the way of what is really said.


End file.
